SPECIAL SNOWFLAKE
Everyone wants to feel special.
We all want to be the best at something. Better than the rest. Above. Beyond. Transcendent. I am very aware of this. More aware, in fact, after a certain somebody I went on a few quasi-dates with accused me of having ‘special snowflake’ syndrome.
Maybe this is a commonly known termed disorder, but I’d never heard of it.
When a guy tells you everyone’s special and you’re no different, it leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Hard metal. Not the sweet taste of Heavy Rock.
Yikes.
Save to say he didn’t get to experience much more of this special snowflake.
It all got me thinking. Brooding, really.
No woman wants to feel on par with her peers from the prince who adheres to her glory with none but a communist stand point.
No feline gets feels from a cockroach who’s spiel is that all are the same as the next one to blame with the misery stuck in her adenoids.
What’s love if not to be treated by at least one person in this vast sea of combustion and compulsion with the rarity of grace and reverence that comes from the worship and devotion to the notion that no other could replace her absolute perfection; that the earth stands tilted in a way just for he to see her glimmer as could be seen by no other, and could see no other in such a light just the same.
What’s the use of anything at all in life if not to feel sparking fireworks burning up the chest as one gazes with abject fear and thrill, only to see that same symphony drawn out and erupting through the recognition and reciprocity of such an essential and blissful escape.
And it doesn’t just end there.
It gushes out in all different directions; from art, to life, to anything that fuels that place inside that yearns to be told that they’re different. A hunger for acknowledgement. A plea to be seen. A desperation for the accolades that could confirm that he or she is worthy of more. Is capable of more. Is talented beyond all barriers that if to be broken would reveal something spectacular. Something real. Something so intangible it forms its own sticky substance between the fingers; webbed, and unmistakably present. Irreplaceable. Unable to be replicated. Undeniable.
The it factor.
Sure, yeah, okay, maybe we are all special, but nobody wants to hear that!
Especially not from the profession and/or passion you are pursuing; and definitely not coming from the person with whom you want to hold hands; he whom you want to hold your heavy heart.
This defeats the purpose. That’s beside the point entirely.
Find someone you think is utterly and entirely special, and who thinks so in return.
Find a passion that fills up the holes inside, and replenish and nourish them often with continued attention to that which will water the void.
Feed that little monster.
You will be special in that which you love. Imagine your place in the world. That’s the home that you will inhabit and imbue with your soaring energy.
Being told you are great is sweet; no such shame in desiring that grandiose.
In truth; we all do, even if we pretend not to.
It’s the human condition.
written by cass
*i’m with someone now who makes me feel special, so no need for concern*